


Unwelcome with Open Arms

by hypersugarroxy



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-03 00:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4079734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypersugarroxy/pseuds/hypersugarroxy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Can a man be haunted by something strangely pleasant? Arthur can't believe what the unconscious eye conjures about his new housemate.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unwelcome with Open Arms

_This isn’t right_. He never thought those exact words, but he knew it in his bones. It wasn’t right. There was no reason he should be thinking such vulgar things about his housemate. The dreams were undeniable; he hoped to God he didn’t let on in his sleep what was happening in his slumbering mind. The places he was touched, the noises he made… they haunted his waking minutes and blessed his resting hours.

Just as often, he thought of what was happening in his house, with his children. For every dream that took place between the bedsheets, post-coital snuggling against a bare, hairy chest (not a fantasy, as Francis wasn’t exactly shy about his virile carpet), there was a well-lit dream of the two of them, walking along a beach, the screams of enjoyment of their children behind them, fading into the sound of rushing waves. Quiet. Serene. A warm hand in his. A dream of the type he hadn’t had in such a long time.

In the real world, Francis was no dream. He was only a man. A man who left laundry lying around his half of their bedroom. A man who dared to keep Arthur out of his own kitchen. A man who wanted nothing more than to spend his summer afternoons in the tiny backyard, spraying the children with the garden hose, drenching Arthur’s hydrangeas and letting six soaking wet children traipse through the house to get towels from upstairs.

Arthur couldn’t believe he had deluded himself into thinking the man in the dreams was the same as the man in his home.

He was infuriating. Everything he did, from the way he treated all the children - even the four who weren’t his - to the way he treated the house he didn’t pay for. Never even offered rent, preferred to pay in groceries and cooking. Which was nice and all except for the nasty side effect of Francis keeping Arthur out of his own kitchen. There was so little they saw eye to eye on. Yet Arthur couldn’t bring himself to make Francis leave.

Maybe it was his children. Maybe it both their children, finally having the equivalent of two parents they’d been missing since both mothers’ departures. Maybe it was just the way the monotony of everyday life was broken up by having the four of them around. Maybe it was the feeling of having a partner again, however much he irritated Arthur and upset his way of doing.

He admitted to himself, they acted like a married couple. Arthur doing housework and Francis doing cooking, Arthur as a breadwinner and Francis having a heavier part of the childrearing (which Arthur won’t admit he’d never been very good at to begin with). They played off each other. They worked together. They even shared a bedroom, all that was left was to…

No. Arthur scolded himself every time he let the thought cross his mind. Never. Those filthy thoughts stay hidden.

 _Let me visit them in my dreams_ …

He smelt of unfamiliar liquor and the salty sea from a previous dream… Arthur let his hands explore Francis’ torso…not entirely sure what he was doing, he just wanted to touch, to discover, to immerse himself…if only bodies could blend, but it appeared even dream logic couldn’t make that happen. His fake hands moved with minds of their own, wherever they wanted unhindered by such silly things as inhibition or 

Arthur woke suddenly. The sun was already up, peeking through the curtains. He lifted his head, turned toward the other bed. Francis was sitting up, staring at him, almost affrontedly. Arthur wondered to himself what his problem was.

“What was that about?”

“What was what about?”

“Well, whatever it was, it sounded nice.”

Any more awake and he might have died of shame; instead he slurred out, “What was that supposed to mean?” He must’ve called out. Even in a half-awake stupor, he could figure that out. Arthur sat up and started out of bed to put on a kettle, hoping that distance would put an end to the discussion.

“Must be someone lucky to make you dream like that~” Arthur didn’t know if he liked the tone of Francis’ voice as he said that. “Will you save some for the coffee?”

“Boil your own damn water,” Arthur retorted, sleepily trudging his way down the stairs.


End file.
